“Then you can’t understand why this house is so precious to me.” She took another swallow of wine. “Do you know how rare it was for a black family to have a house like this when Daddy bought it in 1980?” she asked. “Or even today, for that matter? How hard my father had to work to make that happen? And I came up here—was raised here. I had a swing hanging from that big oak out back.” She motioned through the window toward the dark backyard. “In the summers, I sat reading in the corner of Daddy’s studio, while he created glorious art that now hangs in museums. This is the house where I did my homework, and baked with my mama, and got picked up for my first date. That garden out front? I still think of it as my mother’s garden. Bulbs she planted when I was a kid are still blooming in it. I don’t ever want to lose this house, and my father knew I’d do everything in my power to hold on to it. And I will hang on to it.” Her eyes blazed. “It won’t be easy with people taking their good ol’ time getting work to me, and the roofer dragging his feet, and this being my busy time at the office. You, though.” She gave me a steely-eyed look. “You’re my real loose end. I can’t control you. You’re the only person who can control you. You can cost me this house, not that I think you have a reason to care. But at least you should care about yourself. About the fact that this job got you out of prison and that it can make you a lot of money.”

I thought of the meticulous cleaning I’d done the last three days. “I’m doing my best, but from everything I’ve read, a job like this usually takes weeks or even months of work by a whole team of trained people.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Morgan.” The steely, dry-eyed Lisa was back. “I don’t care how it turns out. It’s so weird.” She shuddered. “That bloody ax? Just weird. All I care about is that it’s clean and has those bare spots covered over. No one’s going to be looking at it close-up.”

I felt a surprising flash of anger. The sympathy I’d had for Lisa only moments ago began to evaporate. She was nothing more than a wealthy woman so desperate to keep her family home that she’d ruin a piece of valuable art to hold on to it.

“I don’t think I can go into it with that attitude,” I said. “I don’t want to do a half-assed job.”

“Well, whatever your attitude,” Lisa said, “you have to finish the mural in time for the opening. All right? That, I’m afraid, is the bottom line.”